He waited for her to set the crutches aside and grabbed her arm before she could move away and pulled her down beside him. HeeHeHeHH hugged her tight. “Stay with me a little longer.”
He’d left room for her beside him and loosened his hold. Intending to go, she picked up his book to smack back in his hand. While she couldn’t read the Spanish title, she recognized the author’s name. “You read Stephen King?”
“Sure. I don’t have the patience for books that go nowhere, and his stories fly.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Surprised to discover they had similar tastes in reading, she replaced the book on the nightstand and relaxed against him. He always smelled so damn good, while she never bothered with perfume. She hadn’t locked the door when she came in but wouldn’t let things get out of hand.
She raised herself on her elbow. “There isn’t much to do for the wedding except wait. Maybe we could go sightseeing tomorrow. Manuel drove Maggie and me around, so we saw a lot of Barcelona, but we didn’t stop anywhere. Will you come with us?”
“Let’s worry about tomorrow in the morning.” He wound his fingers in her hair to draw her into a slow, chocolate-flavored kiss.
She leaned over him for another kiss. He moaned, a soft growl deep in his throat, and the unlocked door began to look like a problem after all. Maybe just another kiss or two or three, she thought. He kept his hands on her back, tracing lazy circles that promised his more intimate touch would be unforgettable. Maybe it was only the Latin-lover technique, but he was so damn good at it. Of course, he’d practiced with the likes of Ana Santillan, and, with that jarring thought, she sat up.
She coiled her hair around her hand. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Why?” He regarded her with a sly, satisfied smirk as though she’d never be able to come up with a credible reason.
“I doubt you’re into long-distance relationships, and Minneapolis is a long way from here.”
“Minnesota? The Great Lakes?”
“You’ve got it.”
He slid a fingertip down her cheek. “If I take you sightseeing, you’ll owe me a tour, but we don’t need to make travel plans tonight. Just stay with me awhile longer. I promise to be good.”
Even knowing it would be a huge mistake, she liked him too much not to cuddle a bit. She lay down and rested her head on his shoulder. She was tired and meant to go to her own room in a few minutes, but she was so comfortable with him, she drifted off. She dreamed of traveling through a beautiful golden countryside, but just as in Stephen King’s novels, everything swiftly went wrong. Jarred awake, she gasped for breath.
“What’s wrong now? A bad dream?” he asked.
She scrambled off his bed and stood leaning against the foot. Most dreams faded the instant she woke, but this one lingered in vivid hues. “Yes. We were talking about sight-seeing, and I dreamed I’d gone with a group, five or six of us. We were riding in a big horse-drawn cart though fields of gorgeous golden grain, something you’d see in a painting. When we reached the old castle we’d intended to visit, we went into the café for something to eat, and one of the boys lit a cigarette. I told him he was polluting the air for the rest of us. The others laughed at me. I went to the restroom, which was primitive, to say the least, and when I came out, they were all gone. It was late afternoon, and I faced a long walk home alone in the dark.” She raked her hair away from her face and twisted the ends into a tight coil. His look of concern made her feel very foolish.
“The whole thing was silly. I’m sorry if I woke you. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be afraid of my mother. You can’t spook her twice.”
> She was out the door before he could stop her. He lay back and analyzed her dream easily enough. He’d only kissed her a few times, and she was already afraid he’d leave her stranded. He always made certain his dates got home safely, but Minnesota was a long way to go. Libby was awfully pretty, but he’d not repeat his father’s mistake with her mother. At least he didn’t smoke.
Chapter Five
When Libby returned to the house after her run the next morning, Santos was on the patio, speaking with a man she didn’t recognize. She swung wide to enter the house without bothering them, but Santos gestured for her to join them and introduced Javier Cazares.
The detective rose to greet her. “My pleasure, Miss Gunderson. I hope you’re enjoying Spain.”
“Thank you, I am. What have you discovered?” Eager to hear, she drew a chair close.
Javier consulted his notebook and addressed his remarks to Santos. “I’ve found no evidence any of the women you’ve dated had anything to do with the mirror incident. Rosalba Valdez has moved to Paris and wasn’t in Spain last weekend. Claudia Garcia was out with a date.” He paused to push up his glasses. “I told her I was writing an article about you and had come across her name. She doubted you’d remember her.”
Libby sat up. “Would you rather I go inside?”
Santos shook his head. “No. Maybe you’ll hear something I’ll miss. Go on, Javier, who else did you contact?”
“I tried to speak with Francesca Muñoz, but her roommate told me she’d gone to Granada a week ago to visit her grandmother. I found her at the Granada number. Lucy Sereno has married an attorney and moved to Madrid. Maria Morin regularly volunteers at a children’s hospital across town and was there Sunday until late evening.” He looked up. “She’s dating a doctor on the staff, and they were together. The last name on your list, Lourdes Canales, died in a traffic accident in Switzerland last year.”
“Lourdes is dead? I hadn’t heard. We didn’t date long. She was more interested in my father than me, which wasn’t anything new.”
“You’re not serious,” Libby interjected.
He shrugged. “We were only eighteen years apart. He was rich and famous, and I was a good-looking kid. Most women preferred him.”
His flippant assessment of women’s preferences didn’t fool her. He had to have been hurt if women regularly stepped over him to meet Miguel. She reached out to take his hand. “Were they just after his money?”